The Hard Counter
by ThaiDude
Summary: It just so happens that when you go undefeated long enough, the world will attempt to correct this imbalance.


Emiya Shirou stepped off the bus that had dropped him off at the city of Kawakami. It had been many years since he had returned to Japan but it was to his surprise that Kawakami would be his first significant stop in a long journey he could not rest from. After all, when one offered themselves to Alaya, there was only submission to the will of humanity. Where he was needed he would go. All of this was in the name of saving humanity itself from destruction, whether through its own hubris or otherwise. Once death took him, Shirou himself would join the ranks of the Heroic Spirits of his youth and become a Counter Guardian. For now though, his contract with Alaya made him more in line with one possessed by the Counter Force.

His youth had remained though his age had advanced. He still looked like a young man in his late twenties though his unnaturally white hair and tanned skin did more than enough to make him stand out. His attire was similarly unusual. Black armour made of synthetic fibres covered his body. His boots were steel toed and similarly armoured. On top of it all was a red jacket that the Burial Agency had gifted him. All in all he was a strange sight in modern day Japan.

All he knew was that he had an unnatural urge to be here, right at this moment. Apart from that he knew nothing else that could help him in his supposed quest to save humanity. He was by the banks of the river now the one of which was the city's namesake. Its grassy banks were relaxing to him, even though it was early morning. He had set his luggage down and sat staring at the city on the opposite bank. To his left was a bridge that connected the city to the more suburban areas no doubt. With the way uniformed students were walking, he banked that he was right on the money but otherwise remained silent.

A small group of children did catch his attention though. To be more specific it was the presence one among them that drew his gaze. A young woman, a senior amongst them, with long black hair and sharp predatory red eyes captured his gaze. It wasn't that she was attractive, given her resplendent figure. Rather it was the way that she carried herself and the way she radiated barely restrained power. While many of her companions were warriors, all of them women for some reason, she stood above them all in skill and strength. Shirou hazarded that she could be someone to look out for if she got in the way of his job. Briefly their eyes met and she returned his lazy gaze with some matter of interest.

There was a silent conversation there. She was curious. Here was a man that didn't look at her for her body, or her skill at arms. In fact it looked like he was simply measuring her with eyes that measured everything else around him. It looked that of a pro, a truly hardened man who never knew defeat simply because he saw everything around him. There was an urge in her to challenge this man whose gaze was unbending. Shirou of course was disinterested in the whole affair. He wasn't here to pick fights, just do his job whatever it was, and then leave for wherever Alaya led him next. There was no need for attachments now. His eyes were the first to turn away.

It wasn't long after they had left and his reinforced hearing picked up the chime of a school bell that he lay back in the grass. The urge to sleep was tempting but it was soon interrupted. It was an old man, bald with a long white moustache and eyebrows. His eyes were slits, closed but Shirou could sense an old master when he saw one. He was garbed in a black hakama and white tunic over which was a similarly white cloak he wore like a shawl. Though he was slightly hunched over as he walked he betrayed no weakness. It was this very old man that greeted him.

"My, my, to think I'd live to see the Counter Force once again," he started to Shirou's surprise, "It must mean that Momoyo has reached that point indeed."

He seemed to bring his right hand to his chin and mutter something under his breath. Shirou for his part remained silent. It was probably why he had felt the urge to stay and it seemed that this old man had answers.

"Come along Agent of Alaya, it seems that you were brought here for a reason, whether you know it or not."

The old man extended his hand to Shirou. It was strange but he could only accept seeing this was his only lead. Though the way he spoke, the title he gave Shirou had been laced with pity.

"Emiya Shirou," he said as he took his hand.

The old man's firm grip did not slacken though his eyes opened for but a moment. Shirou caught the flash of red but could not confirm it as he was pulled to his feet.

"Like father, like son," the old man muttered before introducing himself, "Excuse my manners, I am Kawakami Tesshin. Some may call me a God of Martial Arts but what I do merely pales in comparison to one such as yourself Emiya so simply call me by my name, Tesshin."

"I take it you knew Kiritsugu personally," he returned.

"Yes I have," Tesshin replied, "A more tortured soul I have not met. But what about you? A young man who willingly became an Agent of Alaya must not be normal hmmm?"

"Some say I am twisted but I do not regret that choice," he answered firmly.

"Maybe not now, and maybe not tomorrow, but someday perhaps," Tesshin spoke, "But that is not why you're here isn't it? After all you're not here to talk about why you are what you are. You are no doubt here for my granddaughter who threatens the balance of this world."

"What has she done?" he asked.

He didn't need to tell the old man that he didn't actually know why he was here, only that he needed to be. Tesshin probably knew too but if he did, he kept quiet about it.

"It is about what she hasn't done," the old man spoke, "She is skilled in martial arts and unlike many other masters and prodigies before her, she has never once known defeat."

"And now you are growing old to the point where even she surpasses you and you can no longer control her is it?"

Tesshin merely grunted.

"It does not seem you are of Demon blood or affiliated with the Demon Hunter clans," Shirou noted, "but that doesn't mean anything at all if it required me of all people to be involved."

"Indeed it doesn't," Tesshin agreed, "Come, you two must at least meet, if only to set a date."

If his assumption that Tesshin was a martial artist were true then when he meant that they had to schedule a formal match. With little incident they made their way to Kawakami Academy. An old fashioned school for an old fashioned town, Shirou thought. By old fashioned he meant nationalistic like Japan's days during the Second World War. Or it was simpler to say that it was The school of hard knocks. There was nothing wrong with it in Shirou's mind. Experience was often the best teacher.

Tesshin was the principal of the Academy and thus had found his granddaughter's class, a third year senior, during physical education classes and pulled her aside. Shirou didn't know whether to be surprised or resigned at the fact that it was the same girl he had eyed this morning. She was had styled her manner of dress similar to her grandfather. Instead of a cloak, her school jacket hung around her shoulders where she wore a sleeveless black top and the school miniskirt and boots. Shirou noted that she had her hands on her hips but that didn't mean she was unprotected at all. No, it was the stance of someone who knew that if an attack came there was nothing to worry about.

"Emiya Shirou I would like you to meet my granddaughter, Kawakami Momoyo," the old man started, "Momoyo I would like to meet your new challenger. We are going to schedule a formal bout at the temple."

"Eh what's wrong with now?" Momoyo had replied.

Before Tesshin could get a word in, she had lunged at him faster than any human should be capable of. The luggage in his hand, a duffel bag really, had left his hand before she even finished speaking. He had recognised her intent the moment she spoke. The bag made a clang sound when it landed as her hand had formed a fist to strike him squarely in the face.

It would take more than a cheap shot like that to surprise Shirou but the speed itself made it hard to block, dodge or parry. All he managed was to divert the strike to his cheek and as it connected, he twisted his head in time with the blow to negate the force of impact. It still sent him flying backwards a bit but he recovered by planting his other hand in the ground to vault himself backwards to his feet.

"Hoh?" she wondered, "Wing Chun huh? If you want me to fight him gramps then I don't have a problem but I've already seen that style before."

She was probably basing it on the fact that Shirou had defaulted to a Wing Chun stance upon landing. It consisted of closed fists held at chest height, his dominant right arm leading whilst the other remained close to his chest and his feet spaced evenly matching his arms. He was quick to disabuse her of the notion that he was using Wing Chun when he slipped in to another stance, one he was more intimately more familiar with. He tucked his lead arm in, still with a fist, underneath his left, raising the latter's elbow as he did so, and shot back at her.

To give credit where it was due, Momoyo had not at all been surprised at his counterattack and received it with as much grace as a lethal strike to her neck would. She bent herself out of the way as his fist sailed through air, barely grazing her. Smiling, she countered with her own fist only to have Shirou step in with his left from another angle, whipping his lead hand back in defence. Once again she barely moved out of the way as she aborted her attack. Shirou of course did not let up as he continually whipped his fists about, approaching lethal targets from unpredictable angles but intent on striking her perpendicularly.

"Ah, so an assassin's Snake is your true style," she said as another shot whiffed past, "I'd thought it had disappeared though it's too bad I've finally scoped it out."

As she finished her counter had been spot on as he missed but he had expected it come. It was a fact that she had figured out a style he borrowed from a man he had fought and was almost killed by in a matter of seconds that their rapid exchange had lasted. This made his next move all the more surprising. He stepped in again, but instead of lashing out with his free hand, it was the hand that he originally struck out with, in this case it was the left, and brought it back to his heart. It was an elbow strike, one that nearly caught her off guard as he forced her back. Still her right foot had trailed behind and a neat and short kick to the side of her knee would have forced her in to the ground if not for the returning blow from her right. Her left had been caught and deflected by his own right and there was no way to but to catch it.

"So now you're using Tohsaka style kenpo?" she remarked as he rolled away from the blow, "As if I'd fall for such misdirection."

Shirou recovered and was surprised that she did not follow up.

"But unarmed combat isn't your specialty is it?"

He remained silent but nodded. Having her answer she placed her foot under his duffel bag and had it flown to him with a short quick move of her leg. Inside were swords, two swords to be exact. Shirou had been in China previous, a trip to add more weapons to his growing collection. These two were the only ones he could actually take out of the country with him. After all, he doubted he could steal the Sword of Guojian without repercussions. Not only that, but the Spear of Fu Chai had been reduced to nothing more than a spearhead and the Glory of Ten Powers rendered in to a protective talisman. Gan Jiang and Mo Ye, the married blades and the swords that he treasured out of aesthetics and principle more than any other were the only things to have physically accompanied him on his journey here.

Slowly, he took them out of the bag and the crude sheaths he had fashioned for them. First, the black tortoise-shell Gan Jiang, then the wavy white Mo Ye. Tesshin had the knowledge to be surprised but Momoyo and the crowd that was forming did not seem fazed. In fact Momoyo even raised her eyebrow in curiosity as he settled in to a stance that most would have called suicidal. He was sure she could take it, and thus had appropriately reinforced all three blades, Gan Jiang, Mo Ye and finally himself.

"Now that's more interesting," she noted his style, "a proper stance for a dedicated counter-attacking style. Dual swords too."

Shirou gave nothing away except a slight upturn of his lips and she was upon him again. Another straightforward blow that if he calculated correctly would pulverise a normal human came at him. There was no point in risking damage to his swords and block something like that and Shirou had to retreat from the blow, shimmying around the blow as Gan Jiang, in his left sought out her neck. It was not to be yet again as she plainly blocked the blade, barely showing difficulty in doing so and shoved him away.

There was nothing to gain at range and Shirou was wise to the spectators and dared not use his true skill set here. He rushed her with both blades raised. Positioning her hands between his, she parried away the blow and made to thrust at his chest with both palms, add his momentum to the strength of her blow. Shirou was pretty sure she was capable of generating sufficient force to break bones even with inches to work with. Thus he fell in to a slide, neatly going through her legs as she leapt to avoid his trailing blades. Idly he noted that she wore black biker shorts underneath her miniskirt before rolling away from a falling foot. It would have pulped his head, evidenced by the crater it left behind.

"You got a look up my skirt," she teasingly accused.

He shrugged and settled in to his stance once again. Seeing that his reaction was not to her liking, Momoyo leapt and kicked him. Or rather, she flew from where she was and as she landed her right foot had found where he had been forced to cross his blades. Did she finally find the fatal flaw in his style? Shirou didn't get to ponder that as he was lifted off the ground. Noting that she had twisted her kick as it broke through his swords his head approached the ground as his feet were lifted up by the sheer force of the rotation. It was here that he faltered, his concentration slipped slightly from the fact that his reinforced swords, his treasured swords, was shattered by a mere kick. Likewise his reinforcement of his body was undone as she ploughed a fist in to his flying ribs on his left side, comically suspending him in the air and casually snapping something in his lumbar vertebrae. Before he hit the ground he felt his ribcage collapse inward from a punch to his sternum. He was down, beaten and broken.

"There, wasn't so hard gramps and here I thought you'd finally find someone who could defeat me," Momoyo spoke to her grandfather.

"Silly girl, the official fight wasn't going to be until tomorrow," he rebuked her, "Why do you think he never used a special technique."

Sighing he went to retrieve a stretcher and an ambulance before a voice spoke up.

"Make it Sunday Tesshin, I need a day after this," it was surprisingly Shirou who spoke up and who then turned his head to Momoyo, "And you owe me a pair of married swords."

"Pffft, whatever," Momoyo almost growled and left the school campus.

Today was a Friday and she had better things to do than attend physical education classes after delivering such a masterful beat down. She proceeded first and foremost to the Kazama family's secret base. It may have been a rundown building but after a few renovations it is now a gathering point of the Kazama family on Fridays. There was nobody here yet today. The gathering would be in a while as class was still in session.

It was better that way she thought. Right now, she was in no mood for games. She was annoyed, irritated and generally more surly than usual. While the fight she had gotten in to today was good fun and all, it was still pathetically easy by her standards. There weren't many who kept up with her past the first blow. It didn't help that her opponent, a certain Emiya Shirou didn't have his heart in it. Her grandfather had explained that he held back since it was not a formal bout. It ticked her off that he would disrespect her by not giving his all in the last fight because of it. Was it really necessary that he had to hide his skill behind such an artificial construct?

After all, when she fought him, she understood that he wasn't someone like that. No, he had been scared of something else and the reason he viewed the fight no more seriously than Momoyo had expected him to be. It was like a tool to him, a mindset that looked beyond the fight, beyond the present and fixed on something that only he could see. If there was one thing Kawakami Momoyo did not like in opponents, it was to be ignored. The man even had the gall to claim she owed him two swords. Secretly she was hoping he would be able to recover fully in time for their fight on Sunday. That way she'd be able to force feed him his own feet.

It seemed that she'd been silently fuming and raging for quite a while since her friends the Kazama family had finally started to arrive. She had greeted them with the usual enthusiasm, teasing her sworn younger brother a certain Naoe Yamato who had fallen for the shy Sword Saint Mayuzumi Yukie or Mayucchi to her friends. As per usual, Cap, their fearless leader, brought in some takeout he scored from his part time job and the rest settled in for an exuberant dinner. The hot topic of conversation was of course the challenger that had fought Momoyo beyond the first strike.

"Ne, ne, Onee-sama, how strong is he really do you think?" Wanko, her actual adopted sister, asked her.

"He must be pretty strong if he could take on Momo-senpai like that," muscle man Gakuto chipped in.

"But he still lost," the usually silent Moro pointed out.

"That's because he held back," Momoyo replied.

"Really?" came a chorus of voices.

Momoyo only looked to the one who had kept silent, Mayucchi.

"Indeed, I think he was holding back," the shy underclassmen concurred.

"You've met him before Mayumayu?" Momoyo then asked.

"I have, once, before I had graduated from middle school," the swordswoman replied, "He had come at the behest of his guardian for an instructive spar with my father, a Sword Saint. I was witness to the bout and it was to everyone's surprise that he claimed victory with the sword that he had brought."

All eyes were on Mayucchi now and the underclassman seemed to shrink slightly at the attention but Momoyo encouraged her to continue recounting the tale anyway. That the two men had fought with live steel blades was of course of no concern given their school.

"It was unlike any katana I had ever seen. It was definitely over five shaku long but he still wielded it with ease. He had called it the Monohoshi Zao and I had to agree with the name. My father was of course quite comfortable with the range advantage the young man had. It was like a handicap he had explained. Of course, Emiya-san had earlier stated that he had only come here at his guardian's behest and would rather the duel be quick. Though not prone to provocation, father eventually decided in his mind to teach Emiya-san some humility. It was not to be for Emiya-san did not seem interested in instruction when the spar had started. He didn't even bother with a guard and ended the bout with one technique, which he called an imperfect recreation of Sasaki Kojirou's Tsubame Gaeshi. It was two simultaneous strikes at once. Emiya-san claimed the true technique involved three strikes which would have been fatally unavoidable.

"When asked how the youth had managed such technique Emiya-san only smiled and said practice. I now know this to be impossible since even though I am able to strike fast it enough so that it appears to be simultaneous, he is able to do so in one swing. After the spar, father decided to retire shortly after, having appointed myself as his successor. Father had explained that his defeat had been complete. Not only had Emiya-san surpassed him in terms of technique and skill, it was his mindset that had also conquered father for he had been bested by someone who fought for something beyond the fight itself. A man where not once had the notion of defeat, save for the defeat of his opponent, pass through his mind.

"I expected to meet him once again someday, to challenge him for the honour of my father and school of swordsmanship once I had polished up my skills. That is why I am surprised and confused that he had used those two Chinese sabres. If I recall correctly, he called them married blades and the only prominent swords in China that I remember that fit were Kanshou and Bakuya, or in Chinese, Gan Jiang and Mo Ye. I do not know why he does not use the Monohoshi Zao any more or why he chooses to fight the way he does."

There was a brief silence as Mayucchi completed her tale.

"How strange is his style?" Yamato, her boyfriend, wondered.

"He left deliberate openings in his stance," Momoyo was happy to explain.

But it had been perfect really. He knew exactly how, when and where she would strike simply because he had arranged his guard for her to do so.

"But, if he got hit," Mayucchi trailed off.

"His head asplode," the blunt archer Shiina Miyako finally concluded.

Most of them did not get the reference but it was an apt descriptor of what could have happened.

"I'm surprised he was still alive after you scored two clean hits on him," Gakuto remarked.

"What was that kick you used anyway Onee-sama, I've never seen anything like it," Wanko further enquired.

"Oh that? Just something I cribbed from a Ryouzanpaku disciple a few years back," Momoyo replied nonchalantly, "It's something designed specifically to break through guards, it's the only way I got him."

"So he controlled the fight perfectly then," Yamoto posited.

"Close enough," Momoyo admitted.

"That's amazing," various members weighed in.

It was Christiane Frierich or Chris to them, who had remained silent.

"Something on your mind Kuri?" Wanko asked.

"His family name, it is Emiya correct?" the German transfer student finally spoke.

When she received a nod from everyone she continued.

"Then it is to be expected. I've heard of tales of his father, Emiya Kiritsugu, as he married into a prominent family back home."

"What did his father do?" it was Yamato who asked.

"He was a freelancer, a mercenary and some would say a terrorist. He held no code of honour and was ruthless, efficient and most of all, successful. Of course shortly after he returned to Japan it seemed the very same family her married into placed a bounty on his head. I do not know why but the bounty now extends to all that bear the family name of Emiya."

"Oi, oi, you're not thinking of claiming that bounty are you?" Cap finally spoke.

"Of course not," Chris replied, "Even I know I am outclassed here, maybe my father could but if he was on par with Momo-senpai then I don't think anyone except her would be able to claim such a bounty."

"Even if you didn't kill him, you'd need to incapacitate him, restrain him and finally transport him to claim the bounty," Yamato added.

"Indeed, if his father was powerful to anger the nobility back home, then I would be wary of his son as well," Chris reinforced the point, "I think they made up an actual title for that man, maybe his son has taken up the mantle?"

"And what's the name of the title, maybe I can search up something," Moro suggested.

"The title was given in English and when translated in to German is Magier töter," Chris supplied, "Translating in to Japanese then his title would be Mage Slayer, so you'd have to go back through the translations to see if there is anything that matches in English."

"Well I have no idea what a Mage is that last part would mean he's a killer," Yamato admitted.

"Hmmm, if you think about it from German to English, it is like he is a Magician Killer," Chris continued to contemplate.

"Does it have something to do with his success rate? It is so high that it is like magician?" Moro mused.

"So if Emiya inherited, took up or whatever the title then he'd be a really good killer," Yamato bristled, "I know I don't need to say this but please be careful Nee-san."

No sooner had he said that did the window to the room cracked as if smashed by a bullet. Everyone save Momoyo took cover. Another crack and the project made itself known. It was an arrow, a Japanese one to be precise if Miyako was correct. Attached to the arrow was a note.

"Kawakami Temple, 0930," Momoyo read without fear, "He sure does know how to ask a gal out on a date."

"Did you see where he shot from?" Miyako, as an archer herself was curious.

"I felt his intent from across the river," Momoyo told her.

That was impossible! The room they were in was faced in the opposite direction of the river bank. If Momoyo was not lying, and no one wanted to question her on the matter, then he sniped them with a bow from across the river whilst taking in to account air currents that could adjust his arrow so he would strike his target. The target that was the room they were currently sitting in. They rushed to the roof tops to confirm. Miyako and Momoyo were the only two with good enough eyesight to search for him. Another note landed at Momoyo's feet.

"I'm sorry about the window. Will pay for the repair," Momoyo read aloud again.

"A real gentleman if I ever saw one," Chris remarked with a smile.

"I see him," Miyako pointed across the river, "He's on the tallest building there."

"He'd need the height to shoot that far," Yamato calculated.

"That and he read the air," Cap chimed in, "What an interesting guy, I'm going to befriend him."

As ever their fearless leader was taken by his flights of fantasy and quickly left the rooftop. He missed the arrow that followed.

"Well it looks like I should go before your Captain captures me, see you on Sunday Momoyo."

"Really that guy," Gakuto exclaimed in disbelief.

"Is he some kind of weapons genius?" Moro wondered.

"That would explain a lot of things," Yamato concurred.

"He's gone," Miyako stated.

"That he is," Momoyo confirmed.

"I doubt that Yamato," Mayucchi supplied, "When I saw him spar with my father I could tell that he held no pride in the sword in his hand."

"He was actually more annoyed than angry when I broke his swords," Momoyo added.

"Maybe he doesn't hold attachments to his weapons?" Chris postulated, "I mean I favour the rapier but I can use any old rapier just fine."

"That is true. Emiya-san may be more of a generalist even if he seems to prefer swords," Mayucchi agreed, "But generalists will always be at a disadvantage against a specialist."

"Miyako, if you were in his shoes, do you think you'd be able to make the shot?" Momoyo asked the archer.

"To hit the roof top maybe, but to thread a shot specifically in to that window, even open, I'm not sure," the normally stoic archer replied.

Momoyo seemed to contemplate their discussion a bit and looked back at her fight. His swordsmanship aside, which was neatly explained, the only remaining mystery now was his unarmed style. He knew two different styles, that wasn't a surprise. The surprise was the styles he used. One was a presumably dead style and the other was a family-specific one. What she wanted to know was how he came to learn them.

This was new. Momoyo had never taken an opponent so seriously as to want to know so much. There were already many skilled fighters around her, like her friend and senior Ageha, her junior Mayucchi and her school's teacher Umeko, whom she knew personally.

"The world is wide," she finally concluded before turning to Yamato and Moro, "How much info do you think you can find out about him?"

"You're serious Nee-san?" he asked incredulously, "I mean I'll do it but you've never done homework on your opponents before."

"That's because there was no homework to be done," she replied, "Well you have a whole day don't you?"

"That I do. It'll be Saturday tomorrow after all. Why don't we call it a night then?"

Many of the others were in agreement. It was getting late after all and the day had seen plenty of excitement themselves. Quietly and without fanfare, the Kazama family returned to their homes. The thought of the mysterious Emiya Shirou remained on all their minds though for different reasons.

With that many thoughts directed at or of him, Shirou could only feel a shiver starting at the bottom of his spine. Or maybe it was just a remnant of his spine injury earlier today.

"How's your spine treating you?" his companion asked.

"I'm fine Usami," Shirou shrugged it off.

They were headed to a bar. It was his companion's, Usami Kyojin's, a slack suited man around Shirou's age, idea. If memory served Usami was three years younger than he was. That was why even the man's goatee was starting to grey. It was slight but the dark-haired man seemed truly older than he was. People who witness and survive Dead Apostle attacks tended to be like that. Then again, at their age bracket, three years wasn't that far apart.

The reason they were heading to a bar was simply because it was the best place for Shirou to hide from a certain energetic young man. Another reason was because Shirou had promised to meet an old friend. It wasn't exactly cashing in a favour but it was close. Still, he hadn't seen the man in years since they met in various conflicts around the globe so their reunion would be somewhat nice.

It wasn't a long wait, though the bar they chose was a bit more upscale than normal. Usami had recommended it since the bartender was good. They sat at the end of the counter farthest from the door. Neither of them were ones for cocktails though so they enjoyed their normal, alcoholic drinks chatting about their respective jobs. It was mostly Usami though, both a teacher and an odd jobs specialist whereas Shirou said he just went where he felt he needed to be.

"Gentlemen," Shirou's friend had greeted them.

"Hey," was all Usami said as he lit up a cig.

"Good to see you again Oberst," Shirou replied.

"That's Generalmajor Friedrich to you," before his expression softened, "Good to see you too Shirou."

"Congratulations on your promotion then," Shirou waved over the bartender, "A beer for my friend here please Ryuu."

"I hope that's on you," the general returned.

"It's on me tonight," Shirou assured, "So tell me, how are you enjoying your current deployment?"

Generalmajor Friedrich, or just Frank to Shirou, then regaled him of what and why he was in Japan as opposed to elsewhere. After his last successful deployment in Somalia as part of the United Nations Peacekeepers, he'd been promoted for his exceptional command and then stuck behind a desk. The only way to escape was to accept an overseas assignment and that was why he was here. That Frank was still sober enough to not breach OpSec and still look good in his mainly navy blue uniform after a few rounds was quite unlike Usami who was terribly drunk and was nursing a glass of water.

"My intelligence reports tell me you're here for that Kawakami girl," the German general spoke.

"Well they certainly aren't lying to you if that's what you're asking Frank," Shirou responded.

"I know you Shirou. You don't go around picking fights. What are you trying to prove, that she can be beaten or something?" Frank asked him.

"Hah, not a chance," Usami was still coherent enough to participate in conversation, "Beat 'im black 'n blue this mornin'."

Frank didn't seem surprised.

"He's exaggerating," Shirou explained, "She just snapped my spine and pulped my internals."

Frank's drink stopped before his lips but Usami did manage to choke a bit.

"Anyway, as I am right now I can't beat her," he continued.

"Damn right ya can't, still tender and all dat right?" Usami remarked.

Shirou nodded.

"That's why I'm asking you for a favour I guess," he turned to Frank, "I'd just like to borrow Margit tomorrow."

"That's quite alright with me," Frank admitted, "If you do something in exchange that is."

"Name it."

"You remember my little girl right?"

"Christiane was it?" and once he got confirmation continued, "She looks a lot more like Eva than you."

"You've already met her?"

"Well she does go to that school."

"Of course, well, I don't know how long you'll be here, but if you can, please have her spar with you once," Frank requested, "I need her to experience a skilled left-handed fencer."

"Well I'm not going to take all day with Margit so I guess I could fit that in there somewhere tomorrow."

"They'll be at the Shimazu Dormitory tomorrow morning so why not kill two birds with one stone?"

"Oh really? Then I guess everything's settled Frank."

"What do ya even need Margit fer 'nyway," Usami butted in.

"I'd rather not tell you," he mildly glared at the drunk.

"Whoa man she's like what, twenty one or summat," Usami exclaimed, "Ya practically twice her age."

"You're drunk," Shirou rebutted, "and that's not what I'm trying to imply."

"Suuuuure 'n I'mma dirty Red," Usami slurred.

"As much fun as it is to watch youngsters make fools out of themselves I have an early day tomorrow," Frank excused himself.

"Was nice talking to you again Frank."

"Likewise, good night Shirou."

With that Frank left Shirou with Usami whose consciousness was starting to fade. Unfortunately neither he, nor the bartender or the regulars knew where Usami lived. Rifling through his pockets, Shirou found a cell phone. He used it to call Usami's adopted son and figure out where his drunken friend lived.

"Sorry to bother you and all," Shirou apologised.

"He is my father after all," his son returned.

Shirou swore he heard himself speak through the earpiece but dismissed it and carried the passed out drunk home. Usami was lucid enough once he got home that he told Shirou to borrow the couch. With a bit of reluctance, Shirou did, seeing as he had not really booked a hotel room beforehand. To show his gratitude, he made breakfast for Usami, who was hungover, the next morning before leaving.

The Shimazu dorms were easy to find, especially after having spoken to Usami's son the night before. He had planned to bring some cake with him but ultimately decided against it as he was strapped for time. As he approached he could hear the sounds of conversation from across the wall. It wasn't that he always kept his senses reinforced but they weren't exactly quiet. He knocked on the front door.

"Come in," a voice similar to his answered.

Opening, he was greeted by Usami's son, presumably. The young man was getting ready to leave.

"Tadakatsu right?" Shirou asked.

"Yeah, that's me. Chris is by the courtyard through the kitchen," he answered gruffly, "Sorry but I'm in a hurry."

"It's alright thank you, have a safe trip."

Tadakatsu had sprinted out the door before long and Shirou made his way to the courtyard past the currently empty kitchen. There he found the two people he was looking for. Christiane Friedrich, Frank's daughter, was in her exercise clothes, whereas Margit was in uniform. Both of them had long hair though the former was blonde and the latter was a red head. Christiane's hair was tied up with two red ribbons to for two small twin tails unlike Margit's whose locks flowed freely behind her.

"Good morning Major," her greeted the military woman first.

"Good morning Emiya," she saluted him out of habit.

"You're my instructor?" Christiane cried out.

That drew out the other residents of the dorm. One was a young man with brown hair and similarly coloured calculating eyes, another was Taisei's eldest daughter, and the last was the young short blue haired girl that managed to spot him along with Momoyo the evening before.

"I believe your father wished for you to spar against a left-hander Ms. Friedrich," he said, "I'm also here to borrow the Major for a bit."

"Yes I have received the orders," Margit was all business, "As well as the wasters."

"Good, we'll be leaving once my business with Ms. Friedrich is completed."

Margit held out their weapons. Shirou's was a double-edged straight sword with a tiny cross and a tassel attached to the pommel. It was effectively a wooden taijijian in all but name. Chris' was shaped like a rapier though there wasn't much of a basket and the cross was slightly longer than normal. He had to admire how fast and efficient Frank could be at times to prepare all this overnight.

"Are you ready Ms. Friedrich," he asked as he took his weapon.

She was still out of it though moved to collect her sword. Once it was in her hands all confusion was lifted from her face. It seemed to effect a change on her or maybe she had just come to a decision. Either way it was good. His worry over her lack of attention melted away as she took place opposite him.

"I, Christiane Friedrich, accept this chance to spar with you Sir," she spoke and bowed.

"Emiya Shirou," he replied with a shallow nod, "Whenever you're ready."

She had made a show of taking a proper guard, hands by her waist, feet spread wide enough to allow her to lunge with little effort. That was why Shirou came at her first with an overhead slash. With practiced ease her counter-thrust was precisely aimed at his heart. As they approached each other, he brought his hilt down, catching the debole of her rapier with the strong of his sword and pushed it out of the way towards his empty right. It was from this that his initial attack reoriented itself to a horizontal strike from his right side. Her footwork was exceptional, putting her well outside of his range once her thrust had failed.

Shirou pressed forward once again, pursuing her with a behind the back thrust that was continued from his failed attack. Batting away the barely aimed attack was a simple thing for Christiane however and this left her a window to exploit as he finished rotating. It was a shame that he shut it swiftly with a vertical cut, preventing her attack from hitting its mark. His strokes were chained circles, as he parried then countered in one swift motion. Not to be outdone, Christiane tried to find the window between his attacks and found them in between his need to turn his back to her, if ever so briefly. Her efforts were for naught when instead of swinging his full arm to deflect the blow, Shirou simply used his wrist to dissuade her.

She fell back shortly to regain herself and he allowed her this one reprieve. His sword was still held at shoulder height toward her though. Shirou did note that it was his sword that had come out worse for wear in their exchanges. It would be fine as he reinforced it a little as they circled each other. She wasn't searching on where to strike next, she had probably already decided. It was a matter of how she was going to conduct her attacks. Shirou as well as running the possible scenarios in his head, that he could do it mid exchange was the difference between them. Unlike her however, he was not at all skilled with the type of sword in his hand. He knew the motions and reasons behind them but he never actually practiced them. All of this was his general abilities at work. He briefly wondered if the Mayuzumi girl had caught on to that fact.

However he didn't have to luxury to ponder further as Christiane came at him. Her thrust was simply to allow her forte to bat away his defence. Shirou wouldn't let her do as she pleased of course. Another flick of the wrist and his blade circled around to meet her forte with his strong. A lot of the European styles were quite comfortable with blade locks. Some of them even encouraged it simply due to the fact that tactile feedback delivered through them translated in to the intent of the wielder. It was because of this that Shirou would be at a disadvantage if he pulled back now. Instead, he pushed forward with his superior strength and twisted his blade so that it would strike her in the neck. Once it did, they both pulled back.

"That would be first blood to me Ms. Friedrich," he stated.

"Truly you are not holding back," she replied.

"A little," he half-lied, "It's a spar."

"But you would not hold back otherwise?"

"It depends," he answered.

"So if it was Momo-senpai you would come at her with intent to kill?"

"I didn't mean to offend," Shirou apologised.

"None taken, I am aware of the gulf in our abilities," she replied thus, "Please continue."

Having spoken, she assumed her stance once again and Shirou attacked. Amidst the flurry of exchanges her thrusts picked up in speed and lethality. It was testament to her skill to adapt so quickly to the fighting arrangement. The fact that he was exclusively using the sword instead of combining it with kicks and punches did not take away from her accomplishment.

It was amidst a sweeping slash across his chest that Shirou fell back on the defensive. She seemed to be encouraged from the graze and thrust once more without heed to Shirou's lowered tip position. Slipping right, the flat of his blade came up in a vertical 180 and struck her square on the forearm. From the way her hand flew and short gasp he hoped that it would simply bruise. Christiane still had a grip on her sword though it was shaky.

"Are you alright," he asked her as he lowered his guard.

"Yes," she hissed.

"I'm going to call it at that," he said, "Let me see your arm."

Obediently she held out her arm as he approached, Margit quickly stowing away their wasters.

"No fractures, just a nasty bruise," he turned back to the spectators, "Mayuzumi can you please get some ice."

"Hai, Emiya-san," the Sword Saint's daughter replied shortly.

"Your skills have not diminished at all Emiya," Margit remarked, "I would hazard that you require me for some extra training before your bout with Kawakami Momoyo."

"Thank you Major," he replied escorting Christiane to the porch, "Have a seat and well done Ms. Friedrich."

"Chris is fine," Christiane said as she sat down.

"Not practice," Shirou replied, "It's your other skill I need."

"I don't follow Emiya."

"We'll talk about it later," he filed away that comment for later.

"As you wish."

"Here is the icepack Chris," Mayuzumi returned.

"Thank you Mayucchi."

"Mayucchi?" Shirou raised an eyebrow at Mayuzumi.

"A nickname Emiya-san," the shy girl he knew replied, "But that was an impressive display."

"Well it's good to know you're finally making some friends, otherwise your father and I will have words," he spoke casually.

She blushed and retreated back in to the arms of the young man. It was the young man, and the blue haired girl that gave him a measuring look.

"Um, I'm Emiya Shirou nice to meet you?" he tried.

"Naoe Yamato likewise."

"Shiina Miyako," the girl seemed to want to ask him something.

"Can I help you?" he specifically spoke to her.

"Your archery."

"That's right, I remember reading about it last night," Yamato seemed to remember something, "You won the nationals back in your first year of high school right?"

"Oh that?" that was long ago to Shirou, "I'm pretty sure I didn't but I did do archery, what about it?"

"They say you never missed a shot," the boy continued.

"Well it was competition archery," he said, "It wouldn't work against someone like Momoyo."

"True, Nee-san would just catch the arrow," Yamato agreed.

"So you're her little brother or something?"

"Her sworn little brother."

"If she's a bit childish and hard to handle then I guess we might have something in common."

"You too?" Yamato practically blurted it out.

"Well, I guess if you're researching me for her sake then you're a better little brother," Shirou chuckled, "What do you want to know?"

"Who was your elder sister then?" he asked.

"Fujimura Taiga the 'Tiger' of Fuyuki, if you've ever heard of her. Still alive and well."

"What?" Mayuzumi seemed shocked, "You're her brother?"

"I'm like Naoe-kun here," he smiled, "She's a sister in all but name."

"No, I mean I've always heard whispers of her name when it came to the national kendo circuit."

"Yeah, she got disqualified for having a tiger phone strap on her shinai," he explained, "We called it the Tora-Shinai, famed to never rest till it draws blood. To this day, the Fujimura clan have kept it sealed."

"Hey Mayucchi, didn't you have something similar with Matsukaze?" Chris asked.

"I do not think so," Mayuzumi replied, "Matsukaze was never part of any shinai I used."

"So yes, is there anything you want to know about me? I doubt Momoyo would need any information on me."

"Well she's never asked me to research her opponents before you know?" Yamato answered.

"What's there to know?" Shirou didn't mind really, "I understand swords, I can shoot bows a bit and that's all there is to it if you wanted to fight me."

"Don't sell yourself short Emiya, or are you saying Somalia was normal for you?" Margit had come to tower over him.

"What happened in Somalia Margit?" Christiane asked.

"He sniped a warlord trying to escape from Mogadishu by a plane with a bow from the shore and that was after he had cleaned house at the airport."

"I don't see what's so special about that," both Shirou and Christiane complained.

"You covered a distance over 600 metres in the time it takes Olympic sprinters to cover 100 whilst neutralising all in your way."

"So I can move fast, I'm sure Momoyo is faster."

"You were also impervious to small arms fire," Margit didn't stop there.

"I am wearing armour you know?" Shirou pointed at his chest.

"You took shots to the head."

"How do you even come up with something like that?"

"We had you on satellite," he just had to ask.

Shirou's palm met his face, silently uttering, "Damnit."

"The point remains Emiya," Margit continued with an even tone, "You are capable of things in the realm of the Four Devas."

"The what now?" Shirou he slowly turned to Margit, "Is this a martial arts thing because this is not my thing."

"It most certainly is Magier töter," she answered and gestured to Mayuzumi, "You're sitting next to the youngest one."

"Don't call me that" he scathingly rejected the moniker, "And here I thought the father was skilled and now you're saying his daughter is on par with Momoyo?"

"Oh not yet but I heard straight from Kawakami Momoyo that Mayuzumi of the West might one day surpass her."

"What were you doing in Somalia Emiya-san?" Yamato asked him, "Last I remember Somalia still doesn't have a government and the country is governed by violence."

"I was trying to save people."

"The country is still wracked with violence so you haven't saved everyone," Yamato pointed out.

"I know," he hissed as his mood soured instantly and got up, "Margit, we're leaving."

With that hopped over the wall, bothering only to wait for Margit. He heard her continue to speak.

"Do not be upset Naoe Yamato," she tried to reassure the boy, "It is not your fault he feels that way. I must be off, be well Chris."

She joined him shortly after and he walked off in silence. Truth be told, he didn't actually have a destination in mind at the moment. Right now he was walking along the banks of the Kawakami with Margit silently following behind him. Once again he sat down on the comfortable bank, silently remembering the words Yamato had said earlier.

"You haven't saved everyone," he repeated under his breath.

It was a statement of truth, one that he had gone at great lengths to prove wrong. Seeing it shoved back in to his face was as ever not a good feeling.

"Emiya, I recall you stayed behind after the Peacekeepers left," Margit tried to talk to him, "How long did you stay there?"

"Not long enough apparently," his answer laced with bitterness.

"You could not stay longer?" it was not asking if lost the will to stay longer.

"No, I am forced to go where I am needed, on to the next mission," and again he was less than pleased by his contract with Alaya.

"Then as one soldier to another I can sympathise," she reassured.

He wanted to snark back really because no, his situation was quite unique from hers. There was no way out of being an Agent of Alaya as far as he knew. Shirou held back though since Margit was sincerely trying to make him feel better.

"I'm not quite a soldier," he settled for that instead.

"So then is that why you fight, to save as many people as you can?"

"Yes, but that's not why I need you right now," best to nip that conversation in the bud.

"I seem to recall you requiring me for my 'other' skills. Aside from my skills as a soldier I do not think I possess any other skills relevant to your interest."

"You're a Synchronizer."

"I am not familiar with the term."

"Wait. Frank, I mean, the Generalmajor never told you?" he asked slightly bewildered.

"He has never talked to me about my status as a 'Synchronizer' and you are the first person to use the term," she was nonplussed.

Shirou had to think about what he was going to say next. That Frank never told her about her ability as a Synchronizer did not mean that Frank knew she was a Synchronizer. There could be other reasons of course but even then he'd have to tell Frank about this and if he had to, explain to her what her ability entailed. Regardless of all that, by Alaya this was going to be awkward.

Ignorant of her challenger's plight, Momoyo had finally made her way to the Shimazu dorms. She had spent the majority of the day so far doing the one thing no one had ever expected to do. It was called meditation. There was a very simple reason she did it outside the fact that it was so surprising it might cause gramps to have a heart attack. It was because Emiya Shirou had been introduced into her life. Now that she was had started thinking and doing things she hadn't done before after her brief fight with him, well there was no stopping her was there? It was equal parts enlightening and liberating.

It was a rediscovery of her life. What she actually liked and what she didn't. For the record, meditation was still something boring to her but at least it was calming so she at least saw its uses. She had been too giddy to sleep at night wondering of the fight to come. Thus she had resorted to meditation to see if she could manage her anticipation better. It would not do to not be at her best for a fight against a fully unrestrained Emiya Shirou.

One thing that she definitely liked was teasing her younger brother, and by extension his girlfriend, which was why she had taken a break to visit him. Granted it was barely time for lunch and she doubted there would be food ready when she arrived. Luckily for her, it seemed like the residents of the Shimazu dorm were settling in for a brunch. One look at her cute little was brother was all for him to greet her.

"Nee-san did you even sleep last night?" he asked her.

It was cute that he was worried about her. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Regardless, she settled down in a seat and waited for dear sister-in-law's cooking. Now that was a joke waiting for the right set up.

"Yamato," she drew out his name in her lazy way, "I did sleep."

Wanko had shortly followed her in to the dorms simply because Momoyo didn't dare drag her little sister away from her morning exercises.

"Onee-sama I thought you went to bed," now her younger sister was chiming in, "You've been meditating all night."

It was Yamato and Miyako who had spit out their tea. Another in the plus column for meditation was added.

"They're the same thing," she replied.

"No they're definitely not," Yamato vehemently objected.

"Oh whatever," she turned to Mayucchi, "So what's cooking sister-in-law?"

It wasn't that Momoyo couldn't tell since it seemed to look like yakisoba, but she wanted to make that joke at least once. Mayucchi, as expected, maintained perfect control except for that one fleeting moment when she stiffened. Whether it was shock, shame, embarrassment or some other emotion didn't matter to Momoyo. That she had a reaction was enough for her.

"Nee-san!" Yamato exclaimed.

"What is it Yamato?" her eyes glinted dangerously, "You do not want my blessing?"

Amidst his sputtering, half in terror and half in indignity, she laughed.

"It is good that you've gifted me with another little sister," she eventually continued, "I shall have you both someday as siblings and then one day, I will gift you with an older brother in turn."

Everyone was silent save for Mayucchi who seemed content to cook diligently whilst trying not to hum.

"I mean I can not love a man who cannot defeat me and I'm always looking for a good fight right? If a strong guy like Emiya can exist and it doesn't work out then there should be another like him since he exists. As long as there exists even a 1% chance the possibility of victory is not zero. This way I'm killing two birds with one stone."

"Nee-san that is all kinds of insane so please never wax philosophical ever again," Yamato was rubbing his temples.

"Onee-sama, you're saying that you could lose," Wanko whined, "That's a pretty big IF right there."

"I wouldn't say so Inu," Chris retorted, "Momo-senpai and Emiya-san are rather evenly matched."

"Hoh, and what makes you say that?" now Momoyo was curious.

"He came by earlier this morning to spar with Chris," Yamato answered.

"We talked a bit then Yamato made him mad so he left with Margit," Chris added.

"Hey he wasn't mad at me," Yamato shot back.

"No but you reminded him of something undoubtedly unpleasant which then made him mad," Chris neatly pointed out.

"Do you really think so Chris?" Momoyo wanted confirmation.

Or maybe that was just her bias speaking.

"He has completely outmatched me despite not being skilled with the sword he held," she easily affirmed.

"I think so too," Mayucchi chimed in and served breakfast, "Oh and breakfast is ready. He wasn't using a style at all."

"Really?" Chris was more curious whereas Wanko was incredulous.

"It was his movements," she elaborated, "They were precise, efficient and to the point without a single shred of emotion or personality. Such things should not be called a style."

"Like a machine," Miyako spoke up.

"Precisely."

"Well if Mayuzumi of the West says so," Chris mock sighed.

"She's a Deva?" poor Wanko being so surprised so often.

"I've always wondered for the longest time who the newbie was," Momoyo admitted, "Well looks like the cat's out of the bag."

Then greetings of a good morning broke through the kitchen. Arriving shortly were Gakuto, and Moro. The only person missing from the Kazama Family now was Cap. The detail which Momoyo noted was the laptop in Moro's arm.

"It looks like you have some news for me Moro," Momoyo bypassed the chatter.

"That I do," he smiled.

Clearing a bit of space he sat down, though it looked like Gakuto managed to find a serving of yakisoba to accompany him.

"I got a look at some of his public records," he started, "Stuff from his school is publically searchable obviously."

He turned to Yamato for confirmation.

"Yeah, born and bred in Fuyuki, in fact he was a survivor of the Fuyuki fire back then I think."

"That'd mean he's in his thirties," Mayuzumi remarked.

"I have a picture of him from highschool," Moro turned the screen around.

It depicted a certain Emiya Shirou at the end of his third year of high school at Homurahara Academy. Despite the face remaining basically the same, the most striking difference was the hair and skin tone. Compared to the present, it looked like he could have passed for a Yankee who dyed his hair red. On top of that the nickname given in the digital yearbook called him [the] Fake Janitor. It also listed him as formerly of the Archery Club.

"So he's a natural red head. It's probably why he gets along so well with Margit," Chris mused.

"So the question is how did his hair turn white huh?" Gakuto wondered.

"Well Margit-san did say he was in Somalia once," Mayucchi turned to Yamato to elaborate.

"Well yeah, Somalia is basically a country that's always at war with itself. Maybe it's a result of combat stress?"

"Did Margit say anything else about him?" Momoyo asked.

"No, apart from being someone in your figurative weight class, I don't think so Nee-san," Yamato replied.

"Well there was that thing that made him angry," Chris interjected.

"Why do you think it made him mad?" Moro asked Yamato, remembering his earlier remark.

"Best guess would be survivor's guilt," Yamato shrugged, "A symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from the fire."

"With the way he got mad, I don't think it's an actual weakness to exploit," Mayucchi cautioned.

"So what we have is a killer who suffers from PTSD, is generally good with weapons, is considered on par with Momo-senpai by her near equals, is middle-aged and already has white hair," Gakuto summed up, "Sounds like a charming guy."

"I know right?" Momoyo deliberately ignored the sarcasm.

"Far be it from me to question your tastes Momo-senpai," he replied.

Many of them agreed.

"Bah I'm sleepy," she yawned, "I'm taking a nap in your room Yamato."

With that, Momoyo stalked off having finished her plate of noodles as they talked, passing Cap on his way to the kitchen.

"Man, Shirou is hard to find, so what'd I miss?"

Smiling Momoyo fell asleep peacefully and dreamed of lions, tigers and bears.

Shirou of course was not asleep though he wished he was. It had been a long tiring day for him, scouting out the location of his fight with Momoyo, relocating Margit there before finally educating his partner about her ability as a Synchronizer. That night he had been equally busy crafting geas scrolls as insurance. A vessel of the Counter Force he may be but invincible he was not. The Association was sure to find a way to bring him down eventually, if not by skill then by sheer attrition. It wasn't the only thing he did of course but it was the only one that wasn't inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, mostly.

By his reckoning he'd had six hours of sleep, almost a luxury for him. Dawn was soon to break and Margit was still asleep in the tent. This made him go through his Magecraft exercises outside. It would get too hot otherwise. Not a moment too soon either as Margit was an early riser, given her military background and was swift to dress and ready herself like the seasoned campaigner she was.

"Good morning Margit," he had lit a fire and was already warming up water, "How are you feeling?"

"A little sore Shirou," she replied, "I must have become slightly unaccustomed to sleeping in tents."

The water didn't take long to boil and he handed her a metal mug. Margit had stated that she preferred coffee and had prepared some for her whilst he went for tea. German field rations were superior in that regard. Breakfast consisted of curry sausages. It was surprisingly filling and even with the cleaning left them with plenty of time on their hands. Thus they fell back on the old soldier's maxim, "Hurry up and wait." They took turns patrolling the perimeter and eventually made a game of altering one small detail along their route for the other to find. That lasted a good hour and a half before they moved on to other more fruitful activities to amuse themselves with.

Soon enough his opponent arrived, as with a gaggle of followers. He recognised most of them by name. Momoyo herself was in a white gi. The black belt around her waist may not have been of the highest dan, some of them had age restrictions, but he doubted it was really necessary to know. Tesshin as well was with her, walking in that strange hunched back gait of his. As himself, Shirou was fully armoured, his jacket hanging over his shoulder.

"Was the hike really necessary Gramps?" Momoyo's complaints were well within earshot.

"Not unless you wanted to re-model Kawakami," he replied good naturedly.

"Like seriously," she turned back to Tesshin.

Her grandfather only shrugged and they met halfway in the prepared clearing. The arrangements weren't hard to complete with Tesshin and Margot as Momoyo's and Shirou's respective formal witnesses. Shirou however had made Momoyo's fan club sign an NDA though. They may report the result of the bout but not the method. That he had secrets at all made Momoyo even giddier.

Slipping his jacket on, Shirou retreated to his side of the clearing and awaited the audience to step a good distance away. No longer burdened, Shirou's mind slipped in to a calmed state. It was conducive in employing his esoteric skill set. Eyes locked with Momoyo's, another part of his attention noted that they were allowed to begin. The first thing he did came from his mouth. Seven words that started a poem and that empowered him.

"I am the bone of my sword," he started.

And it all faded to black. Feeling had escaped his limbs and all he was aware of was that he was on the ground, his head lolling about as he tried to make sense of it all. He felt hands cup his cheeks and voices in the air.

"Do your thing, I'll buy you time," a familiar voice spoke.

The speaker must have left quickly as the next thing he knew he was hearing German.

"Du idiot, ich bin ein Oberst kein Arzt!"

Then he felt feeling return to his lips. Feeling that slowly spread, like a painter in his mind and he a tourist in a dream. Touch, he needed more, he needed something more.

"Du solltest besser nicht wagen sterben auf mich."

Suddenly he felt alive. Then the pain came. His throat was parched, his limbs ached and his breath bringing more and more pain to his ragged lungs. It was shock and it opened his eyes to see a familiar red head fussing over him.

"You're alive," she stated.

His memory returned. Something about a fight, or a fierce struggle rent his body asunder. There were three gashes across his chest armour. They had been leaking blood. His knees had been smashed yet now he could comfortably bend them. Knowledge of his foe and the fight returned. Momoyo was fighting in his stead now, but he couldn't allow that. Not for something like this.

"Help me up please Margit," he said.

Silently, she complied, somehow not bothering to comment on his current state. He had not fallen far from the current battle and with some effort managed to hobble his way over to edge.

"So the incarnation still lives, that was within my calculations," it spoke.

"I am the bone of my sword," the words quickly came out.

"Hah, my husband wouldn't be defeated by the likes of you skank," Momoyo replied.

"Steel is my body and fire is my blood,"

"It's about damn time too."

"I have created over a thousand blades,"

"I apologise that he was clinically dead for fifteen seconds," Margit retorted.

"Unknown to miracles, nor known to signs,"

"Your struggles are meaningless, your defeat is certain," it spoke.

"Have withstood pain through an endless wasteland,"

"Don't worry old hag, you'll get yours," Momoyo taunted, "after all,"

"I had forged my way. This was my only path,"

"He's the Counter Force," they both shouted but only Momoyo added, "bitch."

"My whole life was Unlimited Blade Works."

Then it dawned and when it dawned it dawned in fire. The flames rose and a smoky mist formed as a burnt ring marked the edges of a world where one man was law. A world where the ground was parched and barren, a world with a mound on which a Century Plant rested, a world where the very air itself was like a hurricane, its eyes swirling around the agave, its wind rattling the very weapons scattered like saplings about the ground. This was Shirou's world against the Black Land now.

"Dust of Osiris," was the only acknowledgement he was willing to spare.

* * *

**Post Script**

_Write on_

_Judging the concept of creation: A need for more Majikoi fanfiction_

_Hypothesizing the basic structure: Emiya as part of the Counter Force gets in to fights_

_Duplicating the composition material: Revisiting the Majikoi VN and trying to actually use sources that aren't just plain fanwankery (Alaya I hate wikia sometimes)_

_Imitating the skill of its making: Martial arts movies ahoy! Banter and fights, banter and fights_

_Sympathizing with the experience of its growth: I'll let it simmer a week, the impulse is still there? Let's try laying it out then. Don't let facts get in the way of a good story._

_Reproducing the accumulated years: Hey this works! Oh Alaya is the sun rising again? Why is the sun rising again? Guess I'm not sleeping tonight, tomorrow I'll be sipping on some Pedialite (not sure if that's a thing or not)._

_Excelling every manufacturing process: Ignore original blueprint, add Shyamalan-esque twist. _

11,401 Words


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